


The Changing Room

by sleepypercy



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Teenage!Jensen, Underage Sex, older!Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original Prompt (slightly altered): Sixteen year old Jensen goes shopping without his parents for the very first time. He desperately needs new swimming trunks. He ends up in Jared's shop, who is willing to help Jensen choose the right ones.</p><p>(dub or noncon, touching/fondling, adjusting the trunks so they won't pinch and all other kinks you want to include)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Changing Room

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/4214.html?thread=732022#t732022) at spn_masquerade

Jensen’s pretty sure the ninth circle of Hell is a chain of shopping malls. He hates being here. Too many stores, all stuffed in tight, and mind-numbing elevator muzak playing through muffled speakers hidden inside pots of plastic foliage. Not to mention the crowds of people — blurs of bright hair dye, baby strollers, and a thousand variations of sneakers shuffling by.

Jensen’s never been shopping on his own before, but really, it shouldn’t be this intimidating. The sheer number of options, however, is overwhelming, and he doesn’t even know where to begin. Has no idea how to navigate the multi-level shopping center, walking past cinnamon rolls and jewelry and mainstream punk rock stores, everything too bright and too hot and too crowded. Currently, he’s standing against the railing on the second floor, the thick metal curving into his back. In front of him is a dimly-lit clothing store with booming music and headless, half-naked mannequins with six-packs. He can’t see much past the tall fake plants and weird awning overhead, but it looks like the perfect place to get raped.

Yeah, he’ll pass.

He just needs a pair of swim trunks. He’d outgrown his last year, and his mom’s planning a trip to the Italian beaches this summer, having already filling her own closet with gold strappy sandals and expensive beach maxi dresses. She usually takes Jensen shopping herself, loving every chance to dress him up and show him off in public. But as she’s avoiding all incidental sun exposure after her skin peel yesterday, she’d handed him her credit card and told him to go alone this time.

After almost turning back several times, Jensen finally finds a small store that caters exclusively to summer-time clothing. Every possible kind of beach attire is stacked on tables and hung on racks around the store. There’s a lone clerk casually kicked back behind the front counter, spinning aimlessly around in his chair and throwing a tennis ball against the wall to pass the time. 

Slinking between racks of muscle shirts and sleeveless hoodies, Jensen finds his way to a table with swim trunks, all neatly folded and surrounded by beach balls and sunglasses. He stares at the display, not even sure what color he wants, when he suddenly realizes that he doesn’t even know what size he wears. He’s tentatively picking up a pair of trunks when the store clerk comes up behind him, startling him so badly that he almost dives under the table.

“Need some help?”

Dropping the pair of shorts, Jensen whirls around and tries calm his racing pulse. The store clerk looks amused, grinning at Jensen’s obvious surprise, and Jensen finds himself transfixed as soft dimples pop out of the guy’s perfectly-cut cheeks.

“Sorry there,” the clerk says, hands held up in apology as his eyes go soft and empathetic. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

As Jensen stares _up-up-up_ the guy’s impossibly tall frame, some circuit in his brain immediately shorts out, his mind caught on the way the guy towers over him, all golden skin, defined muscle, and narrow hips. He’s older than Jensen by a good few years, late twenties, maybe early thirties, although his unabashed grin makes him look younger.

The nametag on his t-shirt says _Jared_ , and while Jensen blinks stupidly up at him, unable to speak, he smiles patiently, running long fingers through his long hair and giving Jensen a few minutes to compose himself.

“I…” Jensen has to swallow back the sandpaper-feeling on his tongue before he finally manages to answer. “I need some swim trunks. For… swimming.” He immediately winces at how idiotic he sounds and rushes to add, “Well, maybe not swimming. Probably just sitting underneath an umbrella because I burn really bad. But my mom’s taking us to Italy, and she’ll be pissed if I don’t join her at the beach, even though I got my dad’s skin. But he - ” As soon as Jensen realizes how much he’s babbling, he stops abruptly, cheeks flaming. God, could he be more ridiculous? 

He hardly dares to look up, but when he does, he sees that Jared’s grin hasn’t faded, has stayed patient and cheerful despite Jensen making a complete fool of himself.

“See anything you like?” Jared asks, nodding towards the display. “Hawaiian print? Solid colored? Graffiti?”

Jensen shrugs - honestly, he couldn’t care less. He doesn’t even want to go to the beach, has no desire to be stuck in a foreign country where he doesn’t speak the language and doesn’t know anyone besides his parents. He’d rather stick around here, maybe enroll in that summer cheer camp he’d seen advertised at his school. But there’s no way his mom would let him stay behind. Not when he’s her favorite accessory.

Jared steps back, studying Jensen for a moment, and that close scrutiny makes his face flush again. “How about…” Jared turns, glancing through the shelves until he finds what he’s looking for. He grabs a pair of trunks from behind him and holds them out to Jensen. “...these?”

They’re green-and-white plaid with a light brown waistband. Not bad-looking, although nothing like what his mom would pick out. For one thing, they’re not designer brand. When Jensen reaches out to grab them, his hands slide over Jared’s for a brief moment, and he feels something hot rush into his stomach at the touch of Jared’s long, warm fingers under his before he hurriedly pulls the material towards himself.

“Is that your size?” Jared asks, and Jensen feels stupid as he shrugs.

“I’m not sure what size I wear,” he mumbles, cheeks turning a shade darker.

“It’s alright - you can try ‘em on, and then let me know if they don’t fit,” Jared suggests as he leads Jensen over to the changing rooms. He writes Jensen’s name in chalk on the door before unlocking it, guiding Jensen inside to let him change.

*&*

Jensen’s in the middle of examining himself in the mirror when he hears a knock on the door. He’s been in there a long time, unsure about the fit and hating the way they look on his too-slim body. His mind keeps wandering back to Jared, wondering how the older man would fill out a pair of swims trunks, imagining how the material would hang low on Jared’s perfect hips, his pelvic bone curving above the waistband, dark happy trail leading down the front of the crotch and connecting to something Jensen has yet to admit to his mother that he wants. Not that she’d mind, really - just the opposite. He thinks she’d be pleased, use it to her social advantage somehow.

“How are they fitting?” Jared asks from outside the room.

“They’re… okay,” Jensen replies unenthusiastically. 

There’s a pause on the other side, then a mild, “Would you like some help in there?”

Swallowing back some vague uneasiness, Jensen pulls open the door and nods. “Yes. Please.”

“How are they around the waist?” Jared asks, and before Jensen realizes what’s going on, Jared’s fingers have slipped underneath the waistband of his trunks, testing the give and fit.

“Um.. good,” Jensen says, unsure of why his voice has gone breathless. Jared nods, hands still moving. He runs his palms over each leg, squeezing Jensen’s calves. He seems to linger longer than necessary, although Jensen’s not sure if that’s just in his head. Under the bottom hem of Jensen’s shorts, Jared runs his pointer finger around the edge then traces up the inseam, skating dangerously close to Jensen’s dick. Which hasn’t ignored all the touching. 

Jensen’s cheeks flame because there’s no way Jared hasn’t noticed the half-chub pitching the crotch of Jensen's trunks and threatening to slip out. It basically has a mind of its own, perking up at the most awkward of times, and Jensen resists the compulsion to cover it with his hands, knowing it would just draw more attention to it.

“How about here?” Jared asks, staring into Jensen’s face, ghost of a smirk on his lips. His hand pauses, assessing for just a moment, before roaming right over the crotch of Jensen’s shorts. Voice dropping just slightly, Jared asks, “Is there enough room in here?”

Jensen can’t answer - it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of his lungs. He’s not sure if he likes this, feels overheated and confused, although his body’s reacting whether or not Jensen’s brain is fully on-board. Jared gives a tiny squeeze, and Jensen grunts and pinches his eyes shut, erection growing by the second, the tip of his wet dick pressing up against the inside of the bathing suit.

“Turn around.”

It’s not an order. Rather, it’s a soft request - coaxing and gentle. A soft hiccups sounds in Jensen’s throat because he _wants_ to turn around for Jared. There’s something hot and appreciative in the way Jared’s looking at him, and he wants Jared to keep looking at him just like that.

Cheeks heating up, Jensen does as he’s told. There’s a soft sigh behind him before Jared pokes his fingers down the back of his trunks, startling him with how wet they feel. Like maybe Jared had sucked on them first. A soft whine escapes Jensen’s throat when Jared’s long fingers touch the groove leading down his ass, and he can hear Jared’s chuckle and smug response: “Thought so. I bet you’d open up beautifully. Already so gorgeous, sweetheart.” 

A bright flush crawls up Jensen’s chest, and his hands rush out to brace himself against the wall while Jared’s finger pushes just a little lower - down, down, to where Jensen’s never been touched by anyone but himself. He can feel the heat of Jared’s body against his back and Jared's breaths behind his neck. Jared’s finger circles once before pressing lightly against the pucker. But he doesn’t push it further than that. As soon as Jensen gives a soft gasp, Jared pulls his hand out of the back of Jensen’s shorts.

“You ever touch yourself here?” Jared asks, dark against the side of Jensen’s neck. “Slip those slim boy fingers inside, trying to imagine something bigger?”

He waits for an answer, patient and silent until Jensen whispers back a shameful “ _Yes._ ”

With a rough grip on Jensen’s hips, Jared rotates him back around, dimples back to piercing holes in his cheeks. 

“You ever have a mouth on your cock before?” Jared asks, and there’s a dark, predatory look in his eyes that makes Jensen’s dick jump hot and wet against his shorts. He barely has time to shake his head before Jared’s on his knees, his large hands reaching around to hold Jensen by his waist as his mouth - his goddamn _mouth_ \- licks and sucks through the cotton material of the bathing suit.

Jensen’s hands fly down to grab at Jared’s head, hips punching forward into the heat of Jared’s tongue. Jared’s mouth keeps sucking warm and wet, making Jensen have to bite his hand to keep from making too much noise. It’s good - it is. And Jensen wants more. Wants to know what it would feel like if Jared shoved his shorts off, sucked Jensen’s dick into his mouth. But as soon as Jensen’s fully hard, Jared stops. Gets off his knees. He moves Jensen out of the way and falls into the chair in the corner of the changing room, smiling at a dazed Jensen.

“Come here, baby,” Jared says, hands pulling at Jensen’s elbows, guiding him on to Jared’s lap. Jensen’s shorts are soaked with spit and precome; it feels warm and wet still, and Jensen squirms, wishing Jared could have just finished sucking him off. He knows it wouldn’t take much to get him off. He arches back against Jared, hips shifting anxiously, and he can feel Jared grins against the cheek he keeps nuzzling back.

“It’s okay. I got you,” Jared whispers into his ear. One of his hands trails around Jensen’s waist, moves down to untie the top of Jensen’s trunks before slipping inside, fingers wrapping around Jensen’s pulsating cock. “So fucking beautiful on my lap. Wanna mess you up, Jensen. See what you look like covered in your own come.”

As Jared jacks him off from inside his shorts, Jensen writhes back, eyes half-closed as he feels the surge of pleasure chemicals rush around his body, muffling every protest his feeble brain tries to spit out. It’s way too late to stop this now. He feels Jared press fingers into his cheeks to turn his head, and he lets him, mouth open slightly and panting as Jared slips his tongue inside, nips at Jensen’s full bottom lip.

Underneath him, Jensen can feel Jared’s dick pressing against his ass, hard and big enough to make a tiny electric jolt fear go up Jensen’s spine. It pokes him bruisingly hard as Jared rocks his hips, still tunneling Jensen’s dick in his fist. A long whine comes up the back of Jensen’s throat, breathy and high as he wrenches his mouth away from Jared’s, feeling his cock erupt hot and sticky into the older man’s hand.

Chest moving up and down in hard pants, he tries to catch his breath while Jared grabs both sides of his hips. Hoarsely, Jared tells him, “Stay there,” while punching his hips up and down, grinding Jensen against his dick, panting in his ear until he finally chokes out a groan and goes still.

“So good,” Jared praises breathlessly, mouthing at Jensen’s neck, wrapping his arms around Jensen. “So perfect, sweetheart. You’ll come back, right? Let me open you up nice and slow, slip inside you one day, all hot and tight. You want that? Want me inside?”

Now that the come is cooling inside the trunks - which Jensen figures he really ought to buy, considering the state they’re in - the hysterical surreality of the situation catches up with him. He almost starts laughing from panic, from how he almost lost his virginity in a shopping mall changing room. But Jared hasn’t stopped kissing him, and Jensen lets himself get caught up in the afterglow of this moment.

Soon enough, though, they have to leave. With a wry grin, Jared tells him he can keep the shorts, no charge. But he prints out a receipt anyway, writes his number on the back and slips it into Jensen’s pocket.

“Call me,” Jared says, and it almost sounds shy, like he hadn’t made Jensen cream his shorts just a few minutes earlier. “When you get back from Italy, kid. If you want me to make good on those promises.”


End file.
